Goddess Rising (2 page)

None of it mattered.

He would always leave.

Sam pulled out the photo, stared hard at it, trying to recall her mother more clearly, trying to remember how her voice sounded, how soft her fingers were, and how she smelled.

But she couldn’t. It was getting harder and harder. Every month, every year, the memory of her mother faded faster. And now all Sammy could really recall was that she’d loved her once.

But her mama wasn’t coming back either. Not for her, not for Ryland, and not for her daddy.

Sam leaned down and slipped the photo under her father’s door.

This isn’t fair!
She wanted to cry out—
none of it was!

But in that moment, Sam realized she’d lost her daddy too on that awful day. And no matter how hard she tried, she’d never get him back.

And so, she straightened…and stepped away.

August 1997

Texas A&M University, College Station, Texas

W E S L E Y

W
es adjusted the
aperture on the camera, his heart beating a little faster as the air whipped around him. The storm was closing in. He could hear the resonant staccato of thunderclaps roiling across the darkening sky. The air felt pregnant with electricity and ozone.

He smiled as he fiddled with the lens. He’d been waiting for a day like this to practice his time-lapse technique. Thunderstorms were a rarity in this part of Texas, but when they happened—
Man, oh man
, there was nothing like ’em. He set the exposure time on his Leica and watched as the spiraling torsion of blackening rain clouds undulated toward him like an upside-down tsunami.

A sudden movement at the edge of the viewfinder snagged his attention.

Wes glanced up and caught a glimpse of a girl in the distance as she passed the University’s Corp Arches, her stride purposeful and quick. At the last second, Wes adjusted the camera down on the tripod to include her in the shot.

As the girl crossed his path, their eyes clashed. Something in her gaze made his breath catch. He triggered the shutter before he’d even fully anticipated the action, watching as a rough gust of wind made her hair furl and ripple like wild ebony ribbons. The girl picked up her gait, her clothes snapping behind her like a sail.

She was passing him too quickly, and Wes realized that in another couple seconds she would disappear from view—

He called out to her, but the sound was lost in the squall. And in the blink of an eye—she was gone.

Wes stopped the exposure, looking up again, trying to catch her, but she’d disappeared around a corner. The storm released the first heavy raindrop, the rataplan of thunder in the distance. He broke down the tripod, stowing his gear and running for cover before the inevitable rain doused the dry, sun-scorched plains surrounding the university.

Hours later, in the darkroom of the university’s Viz Lab, Wes developed the shot. He saw the girl, her transit across the Arches captured in a way that made the movement both ethereal and mesmerizing. The fact that Wes had captured her at all felt like a prize, as if he might have merely dreamed her, only to wake and find that it really did happen.

Wes went back to the Arches every day that week, looking for her, waiting for another sign, unsure why he felt the need to chase her down, to prove to himself she’d actually been real. The strange attraction was baffling to him. And each time he looked at the photo, there was the sense of something indistinct and tantalizing hovering just outside his reach.

He eventually hid the picture behind his other pieces in the studio, unsure what he should do with it, yet unwilling to allow others to see her, to share the moment with him. He wanted her all to himself—because she’d become his own, private muse.

*

August 1997

Office of the Commandant Headquarters, Texas A&M University Corp of Cadets

S A M A N T H A

Sam dodged the
rain as fast as she could, but she still managed to get drenched on her way to the university’s Corp of Cadets offices. She was early for her meeting with Colonel Sasser, but only just. She might have been earlier had she not been distracted by the photographer at the Arches. She’d seen him before, noticed him around campus. Impossible not to, the way he looked.

Her cheeks colored as she pushed her wet hair from her eyes. The photographer was a head-turner, certainly, but she’d dated some good-looking guys over the past few years and none of them had sent her heart racing quite like that one. Sam was still distracted thinking about it when she stepped past the lobby of the Military Sciences Building toward the ROTC Commandant’s office.

“Well, look who’s here.”

Her head snapped up at the sound of Alejandro de Soto’s voice. He stood in front of her, blocking the doorway to the office, a smirk on his face. He was dressed in his Class Alpha uniform, a khaki long sleeve shirt, black tie, and khaki pants. He actually looked like an officer rather than the senior cadet he was, standing there all tall and starched and handsome. But Sam would rather get raked over hot coals than admit that to anyone, least of all that rat bastard. Alejandro had become her own private tormentor in the brief year she’d been at A&M. The guy who’d single-mindedly dedicated himself to wearing her down her freshman year.

Sam wondered briefly why Alejandro was back on campus early, and then she realized he must be working to help prep the incoming freshman cadet class.

Those poor kids,
she thought.
A whole new set of fresh, baby-faced cadets for him to abuse.

“De Soto,” Sam said flatly, chin jutting up in unspoken defiance.

His eyes narrowed. “That’s ‘sir’ to you,
pisshead
,” he said, his voice low and silky—for only her to hear. Just the sound of it gave her goose bumps. There was a lot of bad blood built up between them from nine months of accumulated abuse, but she’d be damned if she ever let him see her sweat.

“Do
not
call me that,” Sam replied through gritted teeth, even though she knew it was pointless. All returning sophomores in the university’s ROTC program were known as “pissheads,” just like all freshmen were called “fish.”

“And you’re not in my chain of command,” she added, eyes narrowing.

“I’m in
every
sophomore cadet’s chain of command,” Alejandro countered, though that was only partially true. She wasn’t technically in the Army ROTC. She was still “undeclared,” so to speak, though if her father had anything to say about it, she’d be a midshipman cadet with the Navy ROTC before the year was out, continuing the Wyatt family tradition.

Alejandro was one of the best Army cadets at the university, a shoe-in for Ranger School, and his hubris went unchecked as talk of Delta Force intensified. He was a grade A asshole of the highest order, but he was good. And everybody knew it. Sam suspected that’s why he’d gotten away with the amount of hazing he inflicted on the underclassmen, particularly the freshmen. She suspected that’s why everyone turned a blind eye when he broke underclassmen down into sniveling, pathetic messes.

Everyone but her
, that is.

She’d been the only one to withstand it, stone-faced and impassive in the face of his near-constant abuse. He’d had a full year to break her down. But she hadn’t budged—much to his consternation.

Alejandro stepped closer. He was tall, over six feet already, and strapping, despite the youth of his face. He was reinforcing his position over her, forcing her to tilt her head back to keep her eyes on him. Sam stood rigid, wet clothes dripping on the tile floor, listening distantly to the sound of thunder rumbling over the building.

School wasn’t starting for a couple more weeks, and the foyer outside the ROTC office was empty except for them. She’d deliberately scheduled her appointment with Colonel Sasser for the end of the day, hoping to catch him before he went home. She realized now that Alejandro must have known she was coming, deciding to head her off at the pass. Maybe scare her a little to set the tone for the year.

“Why are you here,
pisshead
?” he asked.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business why I’m here.”

He crossed his arms and glared down at her. “I’ll block your early access to the Corp housing if you don’t answer.”

“I’m off campus this year,” she replied, lifting a brow. “I’m surprised your cousin didn’t tell you.”

She’d offered Marguerita Ramos, his cousin and her freshman-year roommate, a chance to share the apartment she’d rented just a stone’s throw away from campus. Rita was the only good thing that had come out of her early fallout with Alejandro. Rita was the yin to his yang, because the only reason Rita had come to Texas from Chicago at all was because she’d followed her rat-bastard cousin here. And the only reason Rita had joined ROTC was because of her rat-bastard cousin’s influence.

Sam half-suspected no real harm had ever been visited upon her by Alejandro or his crew was because of Rita—because Sam and Rita had gotten on like gangbusters from week one. Two soul sisters from radically different walks of life who saw an affinity in one another and established instant rapport. What were the odds her best friend at college would also be the first cousin of her worst enemy? Irony was a bitch.

But Rita was at the university on an ROTC scholarship that covered room and board, so it’d been a moot point to try to get her to move off-campus in the end. After a year of enduring midnight wake-up calls only to be shouted at and berated, forced to run in her pajamas until sunrise, and having their room tossed during random searches, Sam’d decided the safest bet was to get out from under Alejandro’s thumb while the getting was good. She’d told her father she needed the space to study, but the truth was, if she’d stayed inside that box they called student housing for another year, she’d be arrested for murder at worst or arson at best. She knew that much.

“Cadets are supposed to remain in the Quad,” Alejandro pointed out flatly, referring to the Corps housing.

“I had a special exception,” Sam replied, neatly stepping around him before he could react. And she suspected her father had pulled all kinds of strings to receive it, but for once, she was thankful for his influence. Sam rarely pulled rank with the Wyatt name, for all it was worth inside a state like Texas—which was a lot—but in this one particular instance, she’d figured it was best for everyone all around if she had a little slice of peace to return to at the end of the day.

Sam walked right into the Commandant’s office, with Alejandro hot on her heels. She saluted Sasser’s adjutant, a lieutenant, explaining that she had an appointment with the colonel as she resolutely ignored Alejandro.

“Yes, he’s expecting you.” the lieutenant nodded, seemingly unaware of the tension between her and Cadet De Soto. “Please step in.”

The colonel’s office had an anteroom, a spare seating area devoid of any personal knick-knacks or charm. The lieutenant shut the door behind her, leaving her alone in the quiet space. There were commendations on the wall, a large photograph of the president of the school along with the board of trustees, a picture of the colonel shaking hands with a well-known four-star general in battle dress fatigues somewhere with a desert backdrop. There was also a neatly lined row of photos of every single graduating class of cadets since Colonel Sasser had taken over from the previous CO.

Sam pulled her damp hair back into a tight knot as she waited, smoothing down her own class A’s under the dark trench she’d worn, feeling a little nervous. She hadn’t spoken more than ten words to Colonel Sasser since she’d joined the program, and today she’d be asking for what was tantamount to special consideration. It was nerve wracking, waiting and hoping he wouldn’t laugh her out of the room.

His office door opened and Colonel David Sasser stood in front of her dressed in his crisp uniform of a short sleeve khaki shirt and razor-sharp slacks. He was a lean, whippet of a man with a cool, steely gaze and closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair, though his moustache was more pepper and his head was a little more salt. He had a nice smile, on the rare occasion he cared to show it. Today he didn’t show it. Just a brisk nod that said
you’re-my-last-meeting-so-better-make-it-good.